Missing
by sunshinecreamroses
Summary: Money, alcohol and sex. Just like that is the story of Sakura Haruno, who was thrown from silk beds into muck and who spent her days of youth wandering along a stranger group with a bottle of beer in one hand and stolen money in the other. /GaaSaku/


**Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.**

* * *

_SH_**E**W_**A**_S** T**_**IE**_D_T_**O T**_**H**_**I**S** L**_IF_**E**** O**_**F**_

…

_**M**_O**N****E**Y

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**A**_LC_**O****H****O**_**L**_

…

**S**_E_X

* * *

The full moon shone over the vast ocean, making its murky darkness lighter and making it glow where the moonlight touched its surface. The huge beach stretched along the length of the water, lined by usually colored rocks which seemed monochromatic at this time of the night. The moonlight made the sand of the beach silver; the waves of the ocean collided against the pale shore, and the rhythm of the crashing seemed almost melodic, a calming and relaxing sound.

This was why he chose to pick up time from his hectic and harried routine to relax his nerves, have some seconds of downtime whether in the night, or in the early morning when the sun was about to rise. All day work although lifted his mind off his anxieties of life, his arrogant, self-centered wife who had left him for a greater moneymaker in the city, it also gave him massive headaches which needed to be cured not with tranquilizers and painkillers, but the remedy of peaceful nature.

He took a cleansing breath to banish all negative thoughts from his mind and concentrated on the surroundings around him. The kiosk was empty, and a fence separated the area of the beach from the footpath, and then the road. He sat currently on the steps leading to the coast.

Then he heard something besides the nature: a very light sound of gentle feet moving on the sand, and getting closer. He tilted his head to the right, and found a person already standing there, not close to him but not far.

It was a feminine figure: a young woman who was bathed in the illumination from the full moon and he guessed easily that she was at least four/five years younger than him. She was fair, and in the moonlight she seemed even whiter: she wore a little skirt whose color he couldn't identify in the night, and a dark midriff blouse which was off one shoulder; her straight hair was a pastel shade, and she had very long legs which seemed longer because she only wore flat-heeled sandals.

She _was _beautiful, he had to admit. For quite a while he couldn't move his eyes away from her, her long appealing legs, the flat exposed stomach and the lovely twins on her chest. She cocked her head to the side, and her eyes shone in the glow of the moon.

"Hi."

He suddenly remembered he must seem stupid; he was just staring at her and he didn't realize for how long. So he replied, "Hello. Can I help you?"

She laughed quietly, an attractive sound that he instantly liked. She glanced once at the view of the ocean that had seemed so spectacular to him before but had lost its beauty now, and then looked back, a little smile dancing on her lips. "Yes, I think you can."

He waited for her to continue, finding it hard to keep his eyes away from her limbs and imprison the leaking desire inside himself. He hadn't felt like this since his wife, and sensed himself magnetized towards the source of elegance in front of him. As a manager and a tycoon, he had perfected keeping everything in control. But now he felt vulnerable and exposed, as if he couldn't defend himself.

"I charge fifty an hour," she said, her voice very friendly and casual. She stepped away from his right to his front, her hands on her waist, and her expression expectant. "So will you _help_ me out?"

He followed her movement with impious eyes, and he couldn't keep the lust from coloring his tone as he spoke involuntarily, "My car's out in the parking lot."

* * *

He had watched the big house on North Avenue for three days in a row. His surveillance had uncovered that the two tenants of the house were scheduled to go to a dinner date as they did on all Fridays. One of them was a man, plump, mellow-faced industrialist with his hair thinning from the forehead, and his wife had a few silver threads in her black hair. They were a quiet couple, and had no children. The man spent his time in his office from nine in the morning to five in the evening, and his wife stayed at home, tutoring a few college students, and scrubbing in the house. He had had the perfect view of the house, being hidden in their backyard among the shrubbery that lined it. The garden was quite looked-after: seemed the couple took a fancy to horticulture.

He glanced at his old watch: it was eight. On cue, he heard the car moving down the driveway and crunching over the gravel, and disappearing down the street.

_Showtime_, he thought.

He looked around the bush at the street. It seemed deserted, and no one was out, though the lights of most houses were on. He edged towards the back wall of the abode, and found the door that opened to the den. It was locked, but this wasn't a problem. Having spent so much time in this business, he was perfection.

He easily picked the lock, and pushed open the wooden door as quietly as possible. The room was dark, and he groped for the light switch: his first reflex action. But then he realized it might be a bad idea, seeing that someone might notice the lights turned on with the residents of the house away, and he was sure they wouldn't deduce a ghost or something. That kind of thing caused a pickle, because people called the police at once, those nosy scumbags.

He produced his tiny flashlight from the backpack on his shoulder and felt confident and steadier as he could see. The den was clean and polished as he expected, but this was not his destination. He walked silently to the door to the next room, and found it a large kitchen-slash-dining room. There were two doors here for exit: one went to the TV Lounge and the other, guest room. He ignored the room, and proceeded towards the lounge. The house was pretty large, considering only two people lived in it.

Aha, finally. The door to the mogul's bedroom.

He crept in, and switched on the bedside lamp here; because he was sure the little amount of light won't hurt. The room was spacious, with a double bed covered with neat flower patterned sheets, a large chest of drawers placed against the wall across the entrance along with a cupboard, and a dressing table beside the door with a round mirror decorated with a wreath of metal roses. He registered all these facts in a second, and then moved towards the drawers. Before he extended his hand, however, he remembered something.

Oops.

Groping inside his jacket pocket, he produced a pair of plain gloves and put them on. Having fingerprints on all the things would cause a mess especially if the cops were involved later, though they rarely succeeded in catching him.

He opened the drawers, and swallowed disappointment when he found them filled with garments, scarves, and socks neatly squared. He closed them disdainfully, and proceeded towards their cupboard. The right side was full of men's clothes, tuxedos, pants and garments wherever he saw. In the right side, though, he struck. There was a safe built into the back wall of the cupboard. There was no lock on it. That was something he found really irritating though it was good for him. Often People spoiled all the fun, especially in large houses like this. They figured they were safe and cozy and protected, and didn't need more than a dozy watchman prowling the street. They locked the front door, the windows, the back door, and considered their possessions secure. Most of them, like this one, didn't even have a house burglar alarm.

Just how many times had he proved these people wrong?

He crouched down to the safe and a grin made its way to his lips when he found six velvet cases of jewelry. There were trinkets, gold charms, aquamarine earrings, and ruby necklaces, rings, and bracelets, dangly gold and silver hoops. Why did they keep so much anyway? Oh right. The old man must have gifted his bride, and it didn't seem as if these were used for long. Probably secured for their children. Or nieces, whoever.

T_hank you, old Granddad. Your baby got his share, _he thought jovially.

He dumped the cases in his backpack, and rummaged for something else valuable, but there was nothing much. Closing the safe, he stood up and searched the man's side of cupboard. There were a few tens in one of the coats' pockets. He grabbed those, and closed the wardrobe behind him. Then he switched off the lamp and exited.

He found a few solid gold decoration pieces in the lounge and a cell-phone with a scratched screen and no SIM card inside. He shrugged and put those inside his bag.

His stomach growled on cue when he entered the kitchen, and he thought there was no harm in satisfying his appetite. He got a half-eaten bowl of spaghetti from the refrigerator and downed the contents unhurriedly. Then he drank club soda from a refrigerated bottle, tossed granola bars in his bag from the fridge, and smacked his lips. A well-balanced dinner.

Carrying his heavy contraband on his shoulders, he proceeded out to the night, satisfied with his job done.

* * *

"Hmm, very late today, aren't you? Seems you caught a big lonely fish."

"You're right about that part."

She stretched, and then sighed, plopping down on the bed. Her pale pink hair fanned out above her, she closed her eyes. She seemed very tired, and he had expected her to be, given that she had gone for her regular job in the evening yesterday, and had returned after seven in the morning today.

Sabaku No Gaara had come back from his job before midnight, handed over his theft to their boss, or more appropriately, the second in charge because they had never seen his actual boss. All of them were threatened when they didn't work thoroughly to be taken to him, wherever he lived. Then the guilty would be beaten to an extortionate level until he would be crippled. Only the most useful of those poor people would be spared.

He had found these threats empty, until he discovered poor old Zaku, whose arms had been broken beyond repair and he was handicapped for life, but he refused to speak of their _Chief_'s name. He was one of those who were granted mercy.

Working with this unnamed group of people under charge of the brutal manager had been his voluntary choice. There was simply no other way. He had lost his whole family in an airplane crash, his parents, his brother and his loving sister. For over a year he had been unable to stand up for himself, wandering on the streets of Suna, his home city, until he reached the outskirts of the city and found himself in a new place.

A new place for a new start, to gather up his courage and survive. He had had no energy to look for the remains of his clan, his distant relatives, or pursue the contents of his parent's will. He had not taken the mansion left to him, and then it was committed to charity. It was unbearable for him to live in the place of his childhood memories.

So he had come to Konoha city. It was a wonderful new place, and he liked it at once. Only, he wasn't sure how to bring together his shreds of life and make something of it. Then he had been offered a job. A job with enough money given to him to survive, to eat, to dress humanely, and to shelter himself, though in a group home from which the tenants had to move every month. Konoha was a massive city, about the size of a whole country on its own, and they had felt safer.

He was given the job to steal. He had been found alone and abandoned in the great city, in need of a livelihood badly, and he had been offered. He had accepted it after a long thought. He needed money.

There were about thirty people in the group home in the outskirts of Konoha, a safe place from which they could evacuate when essential. Suigetsu, Jugo, Karin, Kin, Dosu, Zaku, Sai, Rinji, Gozu, Guren…and the higher ones who were most closest to Kabuto like Kimimaru and Kidomaru…these were the ones he was most familiar with in the house. All of the _workers_ were beneath twenty-two years of age, and all of them had similar stories. Abandoned, lonely, runaways, orphans, needy, some even raped or molested, and thrown away from the circle of respectable society. They stole, hacked, smuggled, begged even and followed every order given by the second boss in exchange for food, shelter and money.

He had been born in an honorable and mannerly family, though; the adjustment to such changes in his life had taken a lot of time. He had spent a year on the edge of falling and ruining everything for himself. He excelled with his housemates, but he wasn't exactly supported. He felt this life a burden again, that he couldn't hold.

But then, a year and a half after his inclusion in the gang, everything got better. The boss brought a new girl in the house. She was fifteen years of age, four years younger than him, and she was the sixth girl included in the mob. Her name was Sakura Renata and she was very beautiful. He met her the day after she'd been employed, and they fell in love with each other in the same span of twenty four hours. He had asked to share his room with her, and no one gave a damn, so she moved in with him.

Her story was similar to others', but more like Gaara's own. She was from a very respectable family, too, and had lost them, but how, she didn't even know.

The boss gave her the job of a hooker, like a couple of other girls. She wasn't good for athletic work, or running or anything. But she had a brain and a perfect feminine body, and so was capable to work mostly as a hooker and a hacker when needed.

Gaara had most objected when he found that along with the other girls, Sakura had been given that lowlife job of letting men "rent" her for their personal pleasures. But she had accepted it without a word and always listened silently and wordlessly when he voiced his opinion about it, never in denial. He failed to compel her. And she fulfilled her job the three years that followed, to now.

Now she lay on their bed, obviously worn out, in the morning when she was supposed to wake up and have breakfast as they normally did. He reached out a hand and stroked her pale lavender eyelids.

"I'm right?" he repeated.

"Yeah," she said, still eyes closed. "Seriously good haul that was. I already gave away the money to Mr. Kabuto." Kabuto was the second-in-command boss, like mentioned above. "Quite a lonely man… he was good-looking, had serious cash, and his wife had left him so he was all alone and very easy to overwhelm…"

"You always _overwhelm _them," said Gaara, shaking his head. He couldn't imagine anyone not opening up to a girl like her.

She ignored him. "Though what I didn't guess was the _fuck_ to continue for hours! And he didn't get worked up until late…at three, maybe. Then he slept, and refused to let me go. I got a great deal of cash, more than I made before, but seriously! I _don't _like these men. I had to make a fast escape before he asked for my hand in marriage!"

He chuckled once at the tone of her voice, reaching up an octave as she described her experience. She never talked so elaborately with anyone but him, and it all the more made him sympathize with her. But he knew giving her a lecture about it, about getting another job would pass neglected, so he didn't express himself.

"I kept some money with myself, though," she resumed. "I thought…you know, I would need it."

He nodded, and then he smiled. "I kept back something too."

She didn't move towards him. "What?"

He produced the item from his pocket, and leaned over her, fastening the necklace round her neck, as she sat up, eyeing the ornament with interest. The pendant was studded with sparkling red rubies; she held it in her hand, and then let it nestle into the hollow of her throat.

He had given everything to Kabuto, but he had secured the necklace with him, wanting to give it to Sakura.

"It's…it's beautiful," she whispered, and when she looked up, her green eyes looked like the fresh grass after rain, and a sad smile formed on her lips. "It's for me?"

"Well, I'll look like a bit of a prat wearing it, wouldn't I?"

She threw a pillow at him playfully. She climbed up to him, balling in his chest, and he put his arms around her, arranging the white blanket over them. He could both hear and feel that she was sobbing.

* * *

Twenty-one years of life.

The first phase lasted for about fourteen years, the era of love, protection, wealth, family and childhood.

The next came with a disastrous speed, lasting for a short while, throwing away all the things before and replacing them with rags, fear, hate, mistrust, dirt and grief.

Things got better within seven years, at the third phase, and that was the one twenty-one years old Sakura "Renata" Haruno was going through.

When all the other members of the group had had their meager breakfast, and had set out to do their jobs, Sakura remembered her special mission. When Gaara had given the necklace to her this morning, she had been reminded again of her quest, and she was ready to do it as soon as possible. She didn't dare carry it out in the group home, for fear of getting caught or for someone to catch the wrong idea and report it to the Invisible Boss. So she clocked in, took her leave and stepped out of the building.

It was a chilly November morning, with gusts of wind blowing and flinging her hair across her face. She zipped up the long black sweater-dress she had worn for protection from cold, covering her head with the hood. Her dress underneath was thin see-through silk, and for its own particular purpose.

The Internet Café was two miles away, and she preferred to speed-walk instead of taking a ride. So it took her about an hour to reach her destination and at that point she was regretting not hiring a cab in such a frosty weather.

She twisted the handle of the glass door, and entered the café, immediately getting engulfed by the smell of tobacco, peppermint and coffee all mixed in a warm aura. Only a few teens, and an aged man currently used their computers, and many seats and cubicles were empty, this being an advantage of coming early. Distractions were ample in such a regular hangout of people her age, and she therefore chose not to call too much attention to herself when she was busy.

The right side of the place was a coffee bar, offering warm drinks and refreshments, and Sakura readily welcomed a hot mug of chocolate, so she placed her order. The woman at the bar smiled, her face a mass of wrinkles, surrounded by frizzy silver hair which straggled around the ears, but her eyes were alive, young and also ancient at the same time. She asked if Sakura needed the usual setting.

"Please, one mug of hot chocolate, and a _private_ cubicle," said Sakura politely, and the woman ushered her to a compartment in the left-hand corner, away from a girl doing a research article on the screen and a boy very similar to her, who seemed to doze in and out of sleep every five seconds.

Sakura booted up the computer, and quickly made it to her usual search engine, opening the particular website she had started on, and typing in "The Old Oakland."

'_Oakland, now called Eastern Konoha, used to be a grand town on the right of Konoha City. KC is huge enough, with an estimate of a million people abiding and the city sprawls in a gigantic space, making it the size of a whole state. Oakland, moreover, was the double in size and magnificent, a place where only Kings could rule. It was beautiful, cared-for and if sold would make the life of future generations as many as possible. Such a place was the dream of any lively person, and for possession of it many upper-class individuals had turned malevolent, and mostly suffered the punishment. Such kind of negativity was not tolerated there, and the place was famed for its justice. _

_Such a territory did need a ruler, and for centuries the Haruno clan had ruled over the spacious kingdom. They were worthy of their positions, and they made positive use of it, developing their government, helping the public, and living in glamour and mounds of riches and profusions. _

_Evil still appears with an empire after its hiding, and it did attack the Haruno rule, in spite of all the justice and good attributes they had encouraged in their realm. _

_One night it had happened, when the whole city was sleeping, all comfortable and safe, protected. The palace had been invaded by silent intruders, and when the next day dawned and morning light hit, a disheveled young man had run down the road from the Palace, yelling on the top of his lungs and calling for the Oakland police to see the citadel, which had been wiped of all the people connected to the Haruno household. The insides of the palace had been painted blood-red, with puddles of the substance on the floor, the walls, and especially the bedrooms. _

_The police counted all the dead bodies, and however much they tried, they failed to find the king and his wife anywhere, dead or living._

_The shock of losing the whole clan and the benevolent rulers hung over the whole state for quite a while. But it was nothing as compared to the blow people got when they found a new ruling body already in the palace, all authorized, with the contract in their hand which wholly qualified Oakland as their own. News channels flashed frantically, helicopters zoomed, announcing their new monarch, who seemed to be "sent" and "signed for" this job by the king himself. When evidence was demanded, they disclosed the contract with the familiar sign and the Sacred Seal of the king, and his note of farewell, saying that he was leaving Oakland for the people's own good._

_The new rulers were found innocent enough, and having no connection to the alarming murders. More digging told that they were close to the Haruno Clan, and since the public of Oakland could do nothing more for their own king, they had to accept his choice and get on with their lives._

_The protests against the new government died within a few months, but people still desperately demanded for the killers of the Haruno Clan to be hanged and stoned. On cue, the police, now in control of the new sovereign, found the old king's appointed Mayor guilty of the crime, and he was executed in disgrace. His body was hung in the Towns Square and people from all over Oakland and even Konoha and Suna came to pelt him and afterwards his corpse blew with the wind. _

_The murders were all explained to the public to have been carried out by the Mayor and his control people. But the disappearance of the King, the Queen and their only daughter had been explained by a lot of bizarre stories. The note said he was "gone for good" but where? Most people deduced that he was tired of maintaining the huge state and went away to get a break. Some people blamed him to have left them over in another leader's hands. Some people said that he was killed along with his little family for wealth. Or maybe he escaped when the other members of the clan were being murdered. But no one knew the truth, whatsoever. _

_Seven long years passed this…and people finally started to get on with a life in which justice was no longer important, but money and pride, and the new rule was established with strong roots. _

_Everyone now is aware of the fact that the substitute leader of the state was Madara Uchiha of the renowned Uchiha Clan, who was truly a very old acquaintance of Kizashi Haruno, the old King.'_

The article ended at this, and only pictures of the realm in those days remained to attend. Sakura had tried a number of sources in order to get some information about the lost King and the Queen, but every story was different from the other, leaving her with no truth.

She was obsessed with her pedigree, because she had lost her parents exactly seven years ago: she remembered very clearly and why wouldn't she? The long lost King and the Queen were her parents, and she was their only daughter, Princess Sakura of those days.

Even Sakura didn't know what was the story behind the mysterious disappearance of the two Harunos. She had slept happily, anticipating a great day next, being her fifteenth birthday. She was comfortable, in her silk pajamas, feeling her skin against the supple mattress of the bed on the night of the murder.

That was the last soft thing she had felt, because when she woke up again, she found herself lying on dirt and a littered grassy ground, under an open blue sky, with the scorching heat of the sun stinging her skin. She was alone, barefoot, and in no proper dress but her silk pajamas and a light knee-length gown which she didn't remember putting on, with no one around for miles. She had called in vain for all people she knew but found no one.

She was a princess after all, in whatever condition, and she had courage from her father. She had walked and walked through litter, through wild flowers, grounds, unkempt areas outside Konoha, and finally reached civilization: warehouses and stockrooms, which she never did remember seeing before, and she hadn't explored most of Oakland herself, so she concluded that these places were a part of her father's state, and that she was nearing them.

The thought gave her strength, because she longed to embrace her parents, eat something because she was awfully hungry, and dress comfortably and sleep, for her gown had torn in many places by barbs and bushes, her feet dirty and prickly, and she was dog-tired from all her walking.

Panting, she passed by the old warehouses, trying to be as visible as possible, so that the workers would know that the Princess was here and she needed help getting back to the Palace. But no one had taken notice of her; they disregarded her as a little beggar girl. She was surprised and hurt by this, because she was sure if this was Oakland and she had come to the right place, anyone would recognize her. The behavior of the people didn't encourage her and she proceeded further, walking nonstop, slowly and tiredly.

The sun shone at its hottest above, and for a girl who had never stepped out in the sun without a guard, without shades, sunscreens, blocks and all kinds of comfortable protections provided, this was like walking on thorns, getting dipped in acid, and burning all the same.

Sakura remembered those moments even now, as vividly as before, and they were the hardest she had ever experienced in her life until now. She again visualized them as she sat still in her chair, gazing at the computer screen, surrounded by the comfortable aura of the net café.

An hour or so after that she had reached a very large children's park, on the right side of which were apartments. No kids were playing out in the warm weather, and the park was deserted. The seesaws, the balance beams, monkey bars, swings and slides were all vacant, and the middle of the ground had a large water fountain.

She had seen the fountain as a miracle, as a blind man seeing life for the first time, and staggered towards it. She had fallen on its edge, and dipped her hands eagerly in the lukewarm water, cupping water and bringing them to her lips. She had drunk as much water as her belly would allow until it was near to bursting, and then she had washed her grimy face, pushed back her long hair which had become unkempt, and leaned against the edge of the fountain, tired.

She had understood that she was lost, and this was by no means her beloved and tidy Oakland. Trying to think of ways to get back, she had fallen asleep, dreaming of the Palace and her parents, her bed and her dresses, thorns and bushes, parks and warehouses.

She had been shaken awake a long while later, and was disoriented when she saw a starry night sky, and that again she had fallen sideways. No one was around still, but someone was _behind_ her and she could hear breathing. She skittered back in fright, and found a man of about twenty-five crouching beside the fountain. He was dressed in a button-down T-shirt and army pants, quite muscular on the arms, and a clean face. His expression was that of kindness and worry, and to Sakura it had seemed that she had lost this concern for years now, let alone a day.

"Are you lost, honey? Don'cha want to go back home?" he had asked in a deep, soothing voice, which immediately encouraged her to speak.

"Y-yes, I've lost my way home…" she had replied bashfully, brushing her hair out of her eyes and straightening her gown over her knees as she sat on the grass. The man asked where her home was and would she like him dropping her there, and when she told that she lived in Oakland, he had shaken his head with pity and disquiet. He told her that her home was about a hundred miles away from here, and she was really lost.

Sakura had gazed stupidly at him, her eyes widening when she realized this, and fresh tears pooled in her eyes. She started to cry there, and the man fidgeted uncomfortably, until he finally said, "I'll take you my home now, and before that I'll getcha something to eat, dear, is that alright? Now stop sniveling, c'mon, tomorrow we'll go Oakland first thing in the morning."

She had agreed without thinking about it once, given the man's concern and his empathy, and she had fixed her attire as nicely as she could. When they started to walk, the man saw that she had no shoes. He deliberated for a second, and then asked her to follow him.

They reached ahead the park and the apartments and reached a marketing area, where he bought the cheapest and the most uncomfortable slippers off a stall. She wore them, and didn't complain about the rough texture or that they were not worth her position, because she had stumbled barefoot for miles and having something under her feet was a small comfort.

He had taken her to a driver's hotel nearby, and Sakura had felt very glad and safe and snug when she sat on the leather seat across from the unknown man with the kind face. She didn't notice how he stared at her in the lights; how he now saw the beautiful face behind the grime from all the walking and sleeping on the ground, and despite the ragged appearance, the grand fashion of the way she moved, talked, and ate. He had asked what she would eat, and she thought for a moment, her chin in her hands, before declaring cheeseburger, French fries and a milkshake. The man had complied, amused. They had eaten in silence, and the occasional questions were like:

"How old are you, kid?" the man had asked as he took a long sip of the milkshake. Sakura had replied "Fifteen" immediately, and the man had frowned.

"Well, that's not kiddish enough, eh, honey? You're a teen. You're old enough not to get lost from home," he said sternly. Sakura had looked at him, bewildered for a second before realizing that this was a merely a joke, and forcing a chuckle.

"And what's your name?"

"Oh, it's Sakura," she had replied, and smiled shyly when he told her that her name was very pretty and it suited her.

"What's yours, then?"

"You can call me Carter."

The conversation had died after then, as Sakura requested for another cheeseburger and the man, Carter, had conformed.

After she had satisfied her appetite and felt full and energetic again, they had taken their leave. The man had led her on the footpath, and they walked a long, long way past the roads, traffic lights, two or more plazas, a Church, and markets. Finally they had reached a long lane with old houses. Sakura could see that they were old because they seemed grimy from the outside, with peeling paint, and overgrown gardens which certainly needed trimming.

He stopped beside a shabby old house with peeling cream paint and windowpanes that rattled in the wind and a garden that was dangerously overgrown, with waist length high grass. The porch was empty otherwise a dusty old heavy duty bike which was covered in plastic. On the way to the front door, she nearly slipped and had to catch her fall; looking down she found that she had been to close to tripping over some bolts and nuts scattered on the floor. Walking more carefully now, she followed Carter into the house.

The interior smelled of tobacco and was quite warm, the source of which, Sakura had noticed, was a fire crackling in the fireplace. It was dark, and she didn't really get to see anything before the man whisked her straight towards a staircase. They reached the upper landing, and then entered a small, cozy room. It had one single bed pushed against the right wall, and a small desk just below the window, which was covered by blinds. The small clock placed on it said that it was nine. The room was cleaner compared to her expectations, and smelled distinctly…_feminine_. As if it had been used by a woman before. There wasn't anything else that would confirm her theory, and she didn't venture to ask.

She sat down on the bed, which was soft, and she marveled at the luxury again. She smiled at the man above, and uttered a sincere "Thank you."

He nodded quickly, and said, "Well…good night." Before she could return the greeting, he was already gone and the light was switched off.

She had lain down then, with the covers pulled to her chin, a plush pillow under her head; after such an exhaustive day and so much walking, she'd nodded off in a few minutes.

She was woken up by a light creaking on her bed two hours later. It was close to her so she had roused or she would have carried on sleeping. Her eyes took time adjusting to the dark again.

When she focused, she made out a dark head, a broad chest with some hair and muscular arms planted on either side of her, and as the head lifted up, on level with her face, she recognized the kind and courteous savior: Carter. He was leaning over her _on_ the bed, and his movement was what had caused the creaking and woken her up.

Fright drove away all the sleep from her, and she was suddenly wide awake. She knew something was wrong, and judging from the licentious glint in the man's eyes, she was probably true.

"What – what are you –"she had only just framed these words in panic, when his big hand clasped on her mouth, shutting her off. She tried shifting up, but she couldn't, given that he had trapped her in his iron grip.

"Shut the _hell_ up."

Her fear and anxiety doubled, and caused her to scream as soon as he loosened his grip on her mouth. This earned a low, menacing growl from him and his knuckles collided with her belly with a _thwack_.

It was so painful and so unexpected that her eyes rolled back into her head and suddenly she seemed disconnected to the atmosphere, floating numbly. She didn't utter a cry this time, but she coughed unconsciously and he slammed his hand again onto her lips.

"Make a sound or a move, and it will get _worse_," he threatened menacingly, his breath hot on her ear, and she shut up immediately, her eyes streaming.

Satisfied, he moved his hand and replaced it with his mouth.

It was Sakura's first kiss. No one had ever kissed her before, just her parents' pecks on the cheeks or the forehead, or sometimes people kissed her hand respectfully, but never on the lips.

And now she experienced that, as the man of twenty-five kissed the fourteen-year-old girl, roughly and fast and so hard that her lip bled. He covered every inch of her face with hot kisses and his hands crept along the edges of her, unbuttoning her gown with frenzied movements.

The satin gown hit the floor, and her pajamas followed, the latter ripped and shredded in his hurry to strip them off. He then looked down at her and spotted her favorite gold necklace, which she always wore, its pendant gleaming with studded red rubies, luminous around her white neck. He grinned, and he took off that too, seeing what it could be worth. At that, Sakura hardly managed to suppress the sob that was building in her chest, but he didn't notice. He was totally captivated by the exposed beauty spread out under him.

She had lounged there, tears gushing down her cheeks, moaning in pain and hurt as he roughly and brutally fondled and fucked her.

Sakura Haruno wanted to die that day, but considering herself the unluckiest human in this cruel world, she didn't think her prayer would be fulfilled.

* * *

"Your hot chocolate, miss."

Sakura looked up from her computer and saw the woman from behind the counter peering over her, a tray bearing a steaming mug in her hands. She looked concerned and anxious as she placed the mug on the table, and only then did Sakura realize that reliving those harsh moments so vividly had filled her eyes with salty tears. When she blinked, a drop escaped from her eye, and she quickly brushed it away with her thumb.

"Honey, are you okay?" the barwoman asked worriedly, grandmotherly concern on her face. But she just shook her head and muttered, "I'm fine, thanks, don't worry."

The woman took the tray away, looking unconvinced.

Sakura took a sip of her chocolate, and then leaned back in her chair, the mug in her hands, keeping them warm. She was now remembering how she had fainted then and the next day was déjà vu. She again woke up on the ground, now an even more pathetic and grimy sight than before, wearing only her tattered gown that wasn't even buttoned up properly.

She had felt contaminated and tainted. Unlike the last time when she was panicked and she was still wrapped in hope that she would reach her beloved Oakland, she had surrendered now; she had no energy, no optimism of getting back home. Life was filled with obstacles, and it was like a huge maze. There was no one to trust. You had to find your way out, or just give up.

As she sat on the ground, unfamiliar to her whereabouts, she had cried more than she had ever done. There were too many reasons to do so, and she couldn't isolate one. She had lost her home, had no clothes, had trusted the wrong person, had gotten raped, and thrown out in one day. And not just any other day, but her birthday.

She cried for her parents, her home, her city and everything worth, but it was useless.

It didn't bring them back.

She didn't know when she got up and started her aimless roaming again, not even knowing what she was going after. It was pretty early in the morning, and only a few people loitered about, paying no heed to the wretched young girl walking on the sidewalk. She didn't look at them either, and just carried on her way.

Her wandering ended when she found herself in the same square, the marketing area from which the man Carter had bought her the shoes she now didn't have, and where he had dined her. She deliberated for a moment on the path, looking around. The stalls and the shops were close to commence, but the hotels and the big general stores seemed to take time. A few people were minding their own business nearby.

Sakura had glanced down at herself, and found that there was nothing valuable with her anymore, except a wrist chain in her gown pocket. It was made of gold, but was so light that when the man had snatched away her necklace and thrown her gown, he hadn't noticed it. She had taken it off when she was washing her face at the park fountain. It had remained curled up there, the only fortune she now had. She put her hand inside, and took it out.

After a moment of indecision, she held it tightly in her hand and looked for a shop for artifacts and valuable stuff like that. There was one small shop with an old board labeled "HERO'S BUY & SELL" and the old man was opening it right now. She waited until he had gotten his shop in order, and then took a deep breath to compose herself.

"I need to sell something."

The old man had stared at her suspiciously, and it couldn't be plainer than he didn't believe this ragged young girl would have anything valuable to sell to him. Sakura pretended not to notice that and leaned over the counter, dropping the chain in front of him.

"How much is that worth?"

The man gaped at it and seemed to unable to touch it as if it was made of something purely poisonous. Sakura felt an unfamiliar surge of irritation at his behavior, and she told him harshly that it was made of pure gold and she required money for it. The shopkeeper rolled his eyes at that, and it seemed like he had confronted tons of people in his life that claimed to have possessions as valuable as that, but were only fooling themselves. Sakura waited as he clamped his hand around the chain and checked it.

After a minute or so, his suspicious glance was back again. "Did you steal it or something, oi, you girl?"

Sakura remembered how she looked like a homeless person right then and how her condition was a wreck. So she just looked up at him reproachfully and said softly, "It was an heirloom, which I most prized. But now I have to sell it."

Understanding washed over the old wrinkled face, and it seemed like this as well was a regular thing to him. Sakura tapped her foot anxiously as he estimated the amount of money the chain could be worth, and then he put a hundred and fifty on the counter.

"Enough?"

Sakura didn't know if he was cheating or if he had truthfully handed over the money, but she didn't care. Having it in front of her was like heaven. For the first time, she experienced how the poor and the tramps suffered, how those lower-class citizens felt when they finally earned the money they desperately needed. She eagerly grabbed the cash, and without saying thanks or anything, she bounded out of the door.

She bought hand-me-down clothes and shoes from a stand with fifty, and spent thirty more on fixing her food and getting it in disposable equipment. Then she roamed further, searching frenziedly for someplace she could change and sit for a while, because her stomach was growling and she was dying to open the warm bag in her hands.

She walked for a mile or so, and lucked right into an abandoned warehouse by an old playground with broken swings and wild undergrowth. It was on one side, hidden by brush and trees, and seemed a perfect hideout for someone.

It was unlikely why anyone would build a stockroom here, and it was probably the reason it was vacant. On the other side of the playground was the back of weather-beaten apartments which seemed to dangerously crack and blow in the wind. She grasped that she was in a slum area of the city, and she didn't feel offended. She felt, on the contrary, relieved to find a place she could rest for a while.

Cautiously, she made her way into the site, watching her steps and looking around for anyone. But there was no one inside once she approached; her steps echoed in the emptied building and wherever she looked there were mattresses of old newspapers caked with dust and moisture. It was really very grimy, but still better than nothing for Sakura Haruno.

She made her way into the back of the warehouse, a scruffy room which had overturned boxes in the corner, seeming untouched for years, and the same carpet of dust and paper on the floor. There was one window in the back, which displayed foliage behind.

Sakura went in the right hand corner, and inspected the place, because it didn't allow any viewer outside the window (though unlikely to come) to see inside. It wasn't very dirty, so she dropped her bag there, and then unbuttoned her gown. She quickly changed into clean clothes, brushed back her hair with her hand, and then looked at herself in the window.

The shallow reflection showed her a pink-haired girl, wearing the cheapest basic jeans, a light-colored hand-me-down T-shirt and hard slippers. Her expression seemed tired and defeated, and there was a look in her eyes fit to haunt anyone else. There was dried blood on her lips, and her forehead was also bruised and bleeding. Underneath the light fabric, her stomach bore a bluish mark, and her thighs had scratches on them. The soles of her feet were painful and sore.

Sakura stared at herself for a long moment, and then mechanically picked up her gown, dabbed at her forehead and mouth with it to clean off the blood. Then she spread the rag on the floor, and sat. She hungrily downed her munchies and the bottle of water, and once she was full, she leant back and closed her eyes.

Now what to do next?

* * *

Whether it was their job to find the homeless, vagabonds, tramps and the abandoned or not, they were pretty much an expert on coming across those people desperately in need of funds and shelter.

They never returned to their boss without a good fish.

By the time they found Sakura in the slum, she was an alcohol addict. In only one month, she had desperately staggered around the streets for work, for food. But she didn't really know any menial work she could do. She had spent her whole life in luxury and comforts, with servants for every large to petty obligation.

Now she poorly tried to clean people's car windshields, or rake dead leaves away from a place, and things like that. At night she trudged back to her hideout, coming out only in the day on the nearby streets, in fear of getting lost in such a big city. She spent half her money on food, and half on buying herself a bottle of cheap beer and drugs. The latter ensured that she didn't get deprived of sleep, because she rarely succeeded in resting these days. The memories of her past pained her and her future terrified her to an extent that she cowered in a corner, feeling sickly and nauseous. Her eyes would snap open when she was able to get a little bit of nap and frightening images of this new life appeared behind her lids.

Drinking made her feel a little better, and if that was what it took to be easy for a while, she was willing to gulp in gallons of it.

And that was how the two men, with black cloth tied to conceal their faces and slots for eyes, dressed equally in black, red and white colors, found her: the defeated-looking young girl sitting on a tattered cloth in an evacuated warehouse, glass bottles clutched in both of her hands, smelling strongly of alcohol.

Sakura didn't know to this day how they had found her, how she had agreed on accompanying them, and most importantly, how she had come to trust them. Perhaps it was the effect of the drink and the drug, but she had followed the men, later introduced as Yoroi and Misumi, and they had taken her to the outskirts of Konoha city, very far from normal civilization, and brought her to their head: a silver-haired bespectacled man with an uncanny knack of guessing veiled information and a large pack of cards.

He offered Sakura a handsome sum of money each month if she agreed to work with them and their rules and keep her occupation a secret. They questioned very little about Sakura's history, and it should have been queer to her but she didn't give it a second thought. When they asked her name, without a twinkling of hesitation, she said:

"Sakura Renata."

The silver-haired man smiled mysteriously at that, pushed his glasses up on his nose and offered his hand to Sakura.

"I'm Kabuto Yakushi…"

Sakura Renata accepted his hand.

"…Welcome to Black Rings."

* * *

Even though she had changed her surname, had accepted a whole new life, and had started on getting on her feet with the immoral job of a hooker, she told Gaara the truth. After they met, developed a close bond, and moved in together, she told him how she had gotten lost, how she had found herself lonely in this unknown city, and how she had spent the month in a wild goose chase, trying to survive. She even told him how she was molested, and didn't leave any detail behind.

Only _he_ knew about her background. Gaara was a handsome young man of nineteen when she met him, with crimson locks and viridian pools, both a darker shade of her hair and eyes. He was very sympathetic with her, and soon enough she realized that they were in love with each other.

She didn't get any closer to other people in the group home; most of them kept to themselves and there were five more girls in the crowd. None of them were friendly towards her, and she didn't show any interest in them.

She 'worked' nonstop for six years, without any question or query about any thing she found unusual, like the group's history, their invisible head manager, their choice of employees. She just minded her own business.

It was when she was exactly twenty-one years old, that she halted. It was her birthday that day, and it brought back a box of memories that she had kept locked all these years in her head. She felt a frantic urge to find out what happened back in Oakland while she lived here. So she had started using all possible sources to find out information about her parents, and the state. She didn't confide in the details to anyone, even Gaara. She had planned to return to her dearly loved city as soon as she could, and she hoped he would supplement her in her journey back.

So far, she had only found a hundred bizarre stories about Oakland.

At present, she looked at her watch: it was twelve, and past her free time. She had to hurry. So she sipped the last contents of her mug, and then closed the webpage, shutting down the computer. She paid the barwoman, who still looked a little concerned, but Sakura just shrugged and got on her way.

It was one; the sun shone mildly from behind thin wisps of clouds, and the soft sunshine was quite enjoyable as she reached the Hokage Square, the site where the richest men and women visited for their daily requirements and refreshments.

She shrugged out of her sweater and disclosed the white silk dress that reached a little below her thighs.

Time to work.

* * *

"C'mon Sakura…it's late. Even for you," Gaara persuaded softly, but he knew how obstinate Sakura was and his persuasions were probably going unnoticed. He shifted in his bed and looked at the lissome figure sitting at the small desk beside the curtained window. She was reading some articles or researching something on Web, ignorant of the late hour and ticking away at the keypad of the laptop she had bought with her spare money, giving him only '_hmm_s' and '_yeah_s' and '_nope_s' as replies.

"I'm waiting for you," he said, knowing how cheesy he sounded when he said that; he was lying on the bed diagonally, wearing only his underwear. Sakura laughed and got out of her chair, coming to stand at his bed. He looked expectantly at her, so she faked a big sigh and crossed her arms.

"Look," she began slowly yet excitedly, "I was doing research since, like, a month –"

He raised his eyebrows. "About what?"

"About Oakland, or whatever its name is now," she confided, waiting for his reaction.

Gaara felt a little spark of anxiety, though he didn't know why she was digging again for her native city after all these years. But he was good at hiding his emotions now, and he maintained a straight face and said with admirable cool, "Oh?"

Sakura's eager expression dimmed as she continued, and he now understood what was coming. He knew how the leadership had been replaced by the infamous Uchiha Clan, and how Sakura's whole family had been killed, aside the mysterious disappearance of her parents. He had long resolved to keep her in dark; however, it seemed now that his effort had been futile. She had found it on her own.

"…They say my…family was killed seven years ago, when I got lost," she was saying and he admired how she didn't break down and started to cry like most girls would do. But Sakura had always been the brave one. "I don't know about my mom and dad, I think they went away or something, but I'm not sure, so I was just doing research if I could find anything…"

"It's natural that you would want to know," he said, looking her straight in the eye. "But what would you get by finding out?"

Sakura sighed again, and started twisting her fingers together.

"I thought I could go back…digging will come in handy later if I search for them myself…"

A chuckle escaped Gaara's lips when she finally stammered that out. She glowered at his reaction, so he stifled the laughter and tried getting her to understand. "Haruno you know you can't go back. Once you get in here, you don't go back."

"But –"

"Trust me, Sakura, there's no way."

She whined girlishly, letting him see how she was frustrated by his matter-of-fact body language. She dropped on the bed and leaned over him; he took advantage of that and curled his arm tightly around her waist, keeping her there. The pout on her face made her look so endearing he had the urge to kiss her.

But she didn't give him the chance, as she placed her hands on his cheeks and after a moment of reluctance, she spoke up. "We can figure it out. You and me. We'll both leave together…and if I don't find them –"(it took her a second to compose herself) "we'll make our own life. Just you and me."

Her expression was so eager that he hated to disappoint her.

But there was no way.

"It's impossible, Sakura. Even if we get out, they'll tail us. They'll take us to _him, _you know who I mean, and he'll kill us. It's better to live this way. Together."

His tone shut the topic clearly, and he started to kiss her. She responded, and he felt a wave of relief. His free hand reached underneath to take off her shirt but she realized his intention and gripped his hand. The kiss lasted for a very short minute and she drew away, ignoring his objections and his calling lips.

Heck, she was _so_ stubborn.

It was mostly adorable but sometimes it really ticked him off.

She went back to her computer without a word and started working again. He stared at the screen. The website was open to a page called "The Downfall of Oakland" and she was intently reading it. He recognized the logo at the left-hand corner: the red and black spirals spelling BR. How she had hacked into the group website was a mystery, because it had a very strong firewall and it was really hard getting in for anyone aside the management squad. It seemed that she hadn't noticed the symbol.

He stared suspiciously. Sakura scarcely failed to surprise him, and this was the most baffling of all. He watched her back, at the silky pink hair cascading down like a river, his mind whirring.

What was really going on in _her_ head?

He pondered over that.

* * *

Sakura looked over her shoulder, a sweeping glance and then back at the screen: it seemed that Gaara was sound asleep, judging from his deep breaths and the rhythmic movement of his bare chest. She could only see the back of his crimson head.

It took her only a few seconds to compose herself, but they were so stretched she felt like she was a part of a slow motion movie. Confusion, anxiety, realization, grief, utmost terror, and then determination at the end...she experienced all those emotions in those moments, her hands digging into her scalp, her lower lip trembling.

The determination unlocked her hands and her frozen limbs. She stood up, and barely made a sound as her bare feet tiptoed across the room to her cupboard. She produced an old secondhand duffel bag from her possessions, and then started throwing in whatever touched her hands. Short sweaters, Silk gowns, miniskirts, minidresses, short-shorts, sexy French lingerie, revealing blouses and bikinis…all those assisting tools she adorned on that exquisite body to seduce the male population with feminism.

Everything. Even her current attire was a gift for seduction, for sin.

It had become a part of her life.

After packing in her toiletries and her purse, she reached for Gaara's space of clothing, and dumped a handful of T-shirts, a sweater and a pair of jeans inside. One of them she extracted for herself and pairing it with the simplest white silk blouse she had, she dressed up.

She looked in the mirror on the cupboard, and she still saw the faded version of the hooker in her reflection. She tucked Gaara's gift inside her blouse so that it wouldn't be visible. She pulled her hair back in a ponytail, and removed any traces of makeup on her face. She fidgeted with herself, trying to look like a regular girl.

She didn't want to be Sakura Renata anymore. When they left tomorrow, she wanted to be just Sakura.

She glanced at the computer screen. Four thirty was scrawled at the bottom.

They would leave first thing in the morning.

* * *

When Gaara woke up, the first thing he did was flail his hands around the bed sleepily, searching for Sakura's smooth skin or her silky hair, as he always did to satisfy himself that she was there. He knew it was very ridiculous and corny, but he couldn't help himself. So when his hands met nothing but the linen bed sheets, he jerked awake, hardly disoriented, and looked around to find the room devoid of anyone besides him.

The conversation of last night came back to him.

"_I thought I could go back…digging will come in handy later if I search for them myself…"_

Had she left alone, decided that she would better be off than beg a man in denial to accompany her for life?

He jumped up from the bed, and opened her cupboard. It was empty.

He let out a growl of frustration, pulling his messy locks as he always did when he was worried, and then as his eyes roamed wildly around the room, he noticed a carefully folded piece of stationery on his bedside table. He reached for it with fumbling hands and found a familiar, elegant script.

_Gaara,_

_I wasn't joking when I said I wanted to leave. I can't stay here anymore; I want to go back to my old city and my old self. I just realized that I don't need to be enslaved by people I don't know for a sinful job like mine. There are a couple of other reasons, I'll tell you sometime later. All I want is to live the regular life, happy life. _

_I don't want to go back alone, that's the problem. I can't leave you; it kills me to think about it. I beg you, for our love's sake, to come with me. I promise that you will be happy with me, and you won't be disappointed._

_If you want to come with me, let's leave today, when all of us are supposed to go for our work. No one will notice. I've already arranged it with discretion. We'll go separately and meet at the net café. And then…you know._

_If you won't come, then its okay, but I'll just be the unluckiest girl of the world once again. [Insert smile here]_

_Love, Sakura._

* * *

**A/N: ****I guess I'll have to finish it no matter how lazy I get…BUT. **Reviews will _CERTAINLY_** bring more. And look, God has blessed us with that review box just right there…so easy and so handy…ha-ha…what about it, eh?**


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